When you lived in a small isolated town, the zombie apocalypse wasn’t like all those television shows and movies. Sheriff David Dells had never watched those sorts of shows before, but watched every one he could get his hands on before the power died. The Waking Dead was his favorite for obvious reasons. What they got wrong was the ratio of living to dead—at least in his town they did.
Sure there had been the initial sweep where everyone was caught unprepared and often unwilling to fight back. Once he had known what he faced, Dells and a core group of miners had retaken the small desert town. The people had behaved rationally for the most part, but that once stable block of decent people would be chipped at.
Scouting parties that did not return. Chip
Losing power. Chip
The hunger. Chip
The hunger… Chip, Chip, Chip
They grew gardens and went hunting. They survived, but it was nothing like how they had once enjoyed so much, so easily. It was the sick that bothered him more. San Miguel, which was located in the northern Sonoran Desert north of Tucson, had been a mining town, but also had its fair share of folks seeking a quieter place to retire in the sun. The town had already lost three people to illness.
His new deputy, Cale, pointed at something with his rifle and his voice drew Dells back to the present. “I’m seeing something this way.” The man’s gaze headed down a cactus studded slope to a dry wash sporting clusters of thick wait-a-minute bushes.
“Well, either it’s those stiffs, Dot saw this morning, or we’ll scare ourselves up some dinner.”
Cale drew his sleeve over his damp brow. “At this point I think I’d prefer the dinner.”
“Well you know it’s just safer to-”
“No, you knobs, it’s some of them, alright. Three of them down by the wash.” Henry’s wild unkempt hair gave him a feral affect. Dust covered his clothes and Dells figured the young man was the closest thing they had to a zombie hound. During the first day of the outbreak, Henry had been bitten by a zombie, but for some still unexplained reason, he hadn’t turned. Instead, he somehow became ignored by the undead. They treated him like one of their own. He’s seen Henry slap them across the face put them in sloppy head locks and they never tried to bite him.
“Lead the way,” Dells said and pointed toward the wash with his rifle.
Henry raced through the stands of prickly-pear, but the riflemen descended in no great hurry.
Looked toward the thick thorn studded trees, Dells said, “I don’t feel like going in there, do you?”
“Can’t say it would improve my day.”
Henry plunged back out of the brush. “Whatyah waiting for?”
“For them to come to us,” Dells answered. “Hey deadheads, you want a fresh meal?” They came crashing out of the thicket toward them. “Hope you like bullets,” Dells said as he sent a shot through one’s head. But Henry count was off, way off. His three turned out to be more like a dozen and Dells and Cale backed up a few yards while they put everything they had into stopping the wave of death headed their way.
In the middle of the shooting, Henry leaped into the remaining zombies tackling two to the ground.
“That kid’s gonna get himself shot,” Cale shouted, but then cried out when a zombie blindsided him. His foot caught on a loss rock and he fell onto his back. Only one zombie from the wash remained and Dells shot it in the head and threw his rifle aside.
Drawing his pistol, he rushed over, but it was hard to get a shot off without risked hitting Cale.
The zombie was on top of Cale moving in for a bite when Henry leapt onto its back. Cale shouted as he felt the extra weight, but Henry’s laughter echoed louder as he grabbed the undead by the hair and stabbed a dagger into the thing’s temple.
“Son of a bitch,” Cale cursed as decayed filth splattered his face.
“Would you have rather be dead?” Henry asked, as he yanked the corpse off the deputy.
Cale was interrupted by the sounds of screaming reaching their ears. A few seconds later three shots were fired in rapid succession.
Dells snatched up his rifle while Henry helped Cale to his feet. “We need to go, now!”
Tune in next weekend for a new adventure staring Sheriff Dells.
You have heard of Cyberpunk and Steampunk is growing more popular each year, but so are zombies. After the plague has destroyed all that we once knew, the survivors must struggle to survive any way they can. This is where the Punk enters the world of the Zombie Apocalypse. How can people use the scraps of our once prosperous society to not only keep from starving to death, but also overcome the hordes of flesh eating undead?
Welcome to the beginning of Zombie Punk
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This Serial Started 10/25/14
After hearing his thirteen–year-old sister scream in the tunnel that lead away beneath him, Spencer cursed, “Son of a bitch,” and descended into the darkness.
He ran his tongue over his dry mouth and felt like he’d swallowed sandpaper. Every footstep sounded like a handful of dropped dishes to his ears. He grasped his twin pistols but they turned awkwardly in his sweat drenched hands.
Emily cried out again, but it sounded like it was more in anger or fear and not pain. Spencer paused and tried to even his breathing. Looking down, he remembered that his desert eagle was empty. Shaking his head, he hurried to stuff it into its place on his belt, while he shifted the glock into his right hand. He had one pistol, fully loaded, but it was his last clip. Either way this went, he’d only have one chance.
The dirt clogged hallway remained dim. Small holes which allowed thin circles of light in from above were placed at ten foot intervals. He crept along until he reached an intersection. One way appeared more traveled and it was also the way he thought his sister’s voice had come from. Taking the turn, he advanced with careful footsteps.
Emily’s voice sounded again, but as more of a whimper this time. He also heard a kind of muffling voice, which might have been his father’s.
Another voice sounded and Spencer recognized the sniper at once. “Calm down girly. You had better get used to this sort of thing if you want to live in a world like this. Damn it, calm your shit down. If you’re good to me, I’ll keep you around and maybe let your dad live, but if you try to hurt me again, first you dad will go and then you.”
Spencer had heard enough and hurried forward and it almost cost him his life. A zombie, with a chain circling his neck, lunged forward. Fingers grasped and clawed at him. He tried to move away, but the zombie grabbed his collar and pulled him off balance. His small body proved no match for the big undead and Spencer lost, not only his footing, but his grip on the pistol as well.
His gun tumbled from his hands and bounced down the corridor toward his family, but it became a secondary concern as the zombie wrestled with him while trying to move in for a bite.
Spencer struggled to find anything he could use as a weapon and his hand landed on the steel spike he carried on his belt. He drew the weapon while the zombie leaned in to take a bite from his face. Voices were shouting in the distance, but nothing would matter if those teeth met his flesh.
With a yell, he stabbed the nine inch spike forward and impaled the monster’s eye. It fought for a moment, but its own struggling drove the point in deeper until it went limp and toppled into the dirt.
Spencer was just trying to let it soak in that he still lived, when he heard the sniper shouting. “I’m not sure how you got in here, kid, but you’re going to wish you had escaped while you could.”
His sister cried out, “Run Spence, run!”
Instead of running, he made a move to grab his fallen pistol, but before he could reach it bullets riddled the passageway. With a yelp, Spencer dove back and around the intersection. For a moment he stayed there with his back against the wall just trying to draw in a breath.
The man drew in close enough that Spencer could see the outline of his shadow moving down the wall. “Did I get you, punk? You think I’d forgive all of you for killing my dogs? Your whole family is going to pay and I think I’ll be starting with you.”
“Son of a bitch.”
The Climax of See Emily Slay and You can Call me Spike Part II
Bullets raked the corner of the intersection Spencer had made it too. His breaths came in gasps and his hands shook. His sole loaded gun lay near the gunman and all the sniper would have to do is turn the corner and Spencer wouldn’t be living to see his eleventh birthday.
He couldn’t retreat either. Behind him lay nothing but a trap door up into dozens of walking corpses. Even with his guns fully loaded, he wouldn’t have been able to fight his way through.
The sniper shouted, “Come on out boy. Come around the corner with your hands before you and you might live to see another sunrise.”
Spencer was young but he wasn’t an idiot and living through a year of the apocalypse had caused him to be a quick thinker and grow up fast. The man was shouting and shooting, but Spencer sensed that he still considered him a threat. Probably thinks I have a loaded gun, he thought to himself.
Looking down at his belt he saw his empty desert eagle. He drew it. There has to be some way I can use this to help me and my family. He had one more thing on his belt—his steel spike. Since he had used it to save his life on the first day of the outbreak, Spencer had given himself the nickname Spike. His sister refused to call him that and his father rarely did. Jewels had often obliged, but the damn sniper in the hallway had killed her.
Thinking about Jewels focused his anger and he gripped his metal spike so hard his knuckles turned white. “She called me Spike,” his whispered. “I promise you that I’ll live up to my name today, Jewels.”
“What are you saying, boy?”
“I’m saying I want to give up,” he called out and hoped his voice didn’t tremble.
He tossed his empty pistol into the hallway past the intersection. Then he took off his knife and tossed it out there too. While he waited for the sniper to make the next move, he slid the spike down the front of his pants. It felt cold next to his sweating form, but his mind remained to busy to register such things.
“Alright. Maybe you aren’t as dumb as you look. Now I want you to come out into the hallway and keep your hands in the air.”
Spencer stood. The dirt clung to his boots and the air stayed heavy with stale heat. He didn’t want to turn around the corner. After ten seconds of trying he wondered if his body would even let him.
“Come on, punk. Let me see those hands.”
Drawing a deep breath, Spencer forced himself around the corner and looked up into the eyes of the man that held his family hostage—the man that had killed Jewels.
He was covered in makeshift body armor. His vest had a cop insignia and Spencer wondered if the guy used to be a cop or had killed one. The mask proved to be the most disturbing. Spencer had never seen the man without in and even here in the sniper’s underground tunnels, he still wore it. Was still wearing it while he was trying to rape my sister, Spencer fumed.
Despite his youth, he could feel his rage mounting. It burned within him and he began to tremble, not with fear but with anger.
The sniper laughed. “Don’t shit your pants on me now, boy.”
Spencer ground his teeth. His forehead tensed, but he didn’t say a word.
“Alright you little piece of shit. Let’s reunite you with your family. Perhaps with a knife to your throat your sister will be a bit more cooperative.” He grabbed Spencer by the shoulder and pushed him toward the direction he’d heard his sister.
“What did you say about throats?” Spencer said, his voice just above a whisper.
Spencer repeated himself, but in an even softer voice.
“Speak up you little rat. Hell, you’re squeaking like a rat.”
Spencer response was to trip up and fall to one knee. He made sure his back was to the man while he let his spike fill his fist.
“Oh what the hell is wrong with you now? Maybe you aren’t worth the effort.” The man drew near Spencer and grabbed his shoulder in a painful grip.
With a yell, Spencer leapt up to his full height and drove his spike up and under the man’s chin. The sniper cried out, but Spencer had been killing zombies for a year. He knew how to hit the brain and one for the best ways, when you are shorter, is to strike it by going straight up from under the jaw.
The sniper struggled and tried to throw Spencer off, but the boy clung onto his armor with his free hand and drove his spike in deeper. The sniper made a gurgling noise, but a second later he had fallen onto his back. Spencer road him all the way down and made sure he wouldn’t be getting up again by driving his gory spike through both of the man’s eyes.
Once that was done, he snatched up his fallen pistol, and rushed to his family.
Both of his family members were bound. His father had been tied to a chair while Emily was strapped to a table and already half naked.
At the sight of him Emily burst into a new round of tears. “Spencer, Spencer at you okay? Is that asshole dead?’
Spencer smiled her way. “Yes and yes and,” he held up his gory weapon, “And you can call me Spike.”
I hope you enjoyed the Climax of See Emily Slay and You can Call me Spike. turn in next weekend for the beginning of a new adventure staring Sheriff Dells.